The rite of the first night 4

So Lilah rode the desk, her hips dancing with the ruler. Her ass red as cherries, and now impressively mobile. Jaime concentrated the strokes on the softer skin of her underbum. He’d given up trying to break the ruler, but he was impressed with the colour and heat it raised. He was feeling heat and need for her, and he was feeling cruel.

He concentrated his attention, and the stingy heat of the ruler, on a line just a couple of inches above the crease of her thighs, keeping the blows hard on that line until she squealed. Lilah was wide-eyed now, and slightly teary. She puffed deeply, in time with the strokes. She’d become quite vocal. Jaime didn’t know why, but she preferred to take discipline in silence. He liked that she’d lost that last sliver of control.

He smacked her hard, so she’d think he was about to give a series of slow, deliberate strokes. She waited, expecting more pain while he unzipped and fumbled a condom on. He put his hand in her hair and pushed her nose and forehead to the desktop and slid into her.

deskfuckLilah said, “ah fuck oh fuck” as he filled her It was the first word she’d said in ages. It was true.

He tightened his grip in her hair and fucked her hard, without build-up or tenderness. Lilah yammered, howling like a siamang, and Jaime joined in at lower pitch. The desk rocked under them and moved forward until Lilah’s fingers were caught between the desk she still desperately gripped and the wall.

Later Jaime paused and put his hands over hers, to protect her and to possess her. He had no idea how often Lilah had come. Eventually he let himself come. He rested, with the heated softness of Lilah trapped between his body and the cold hard desk. He softened inside her, and – reluctantly – had to withdraw before the condom could slide loose.

Jaime put the ruler in Lilah’s mouth, and told her she was staying with him that night. “Yeah,” she said. “I might.”

But she always challenged him a little after she’d been beaten and fucked. In Jaime’s experience she challenged and then did as she was told.

Jaime noticed, in the office toilets where he went to flush the condom away, that he’d have to sponge the front of his pants. Lilah had been foamily pleased, and he hadn’t taken his suit off. He made a start with some tissues, then did up his fly. She was still dressing when he returned. He put the files back on the desk, and sprayed the office with air freshener to cover the smell of sex. 

Lilah had her belt back on. Jaime slapped her bottom again, to remind her of various important things. “Home,” he said. 

The rite of the first night 3

Lilah nodded. It was about time. They hadn’t seen each other for more than a month. He told her bend over his desk. The words were clichés, and yet they still had power. They worked for him and it seemed they worked for Lilah.

bent overLilah sucked her stomach in and turned to face the desk. She did like mild humiliation, in its time and place, but he had never known her not to be vain. She leaned forward until she could hold onto the further edge and lowered herself onto the wooden desktop.

Jaime liked the idea of how cold and hard the desk would be, under her body. He always thought of her as warm.

Lilah knocked a couple of files with her hip, and they slid onto the floor. It probably hadn’t been deliberate, but Jaime used the mess as a reason to pick up his new ruler. If it hadn’t been the files it would have been something else.

He brought the ruler down on her bottom and upper thighs as hard as he could. He watched the first stripe form. She had moved her feet a little, to steady herself, but otherwise she seemed comfortable. It was a pleasing pain, and she’;d waited a month for it. So he smacked her again, just as hard. He’d bought that ruler in an art shop that afternoon specifically because it was the cheapest and flimsiest ruler he’d ever seen. He thought she’d be impressed with herself, if he broke an implement of discipline on her.

But the damn thing wouldn’t break. He kept going. He did his best. 

The rite of the first night 2

So Lilah stood, feet some distance apart, with Jaime’s hand gripping her cunt. Not comfortably, but pleasurably. Jaime relaxed the thumb and foregfinger grip on her lips and pleasured her with the two fingers inside her, wetly, hungrily held. And sometimes he focussed on hurting her. 

grip cunt 2Lilah tried to keep still, her hands at her sides, but being still was impossible. He hadn’t told her to be. Jaime guessed it was a form of defiance she put up,  precisely because she knew she’d fail.

He squeezed hard, making Lilah rise onto tiptoes, and when he relaxed the grip a little she thrust down and forward, trying to take his fingers deeper into her, to ride him and the pain together.

He smiled at her. “What are you, Lilah?”

“Puppet… Cunt puppet, I’m your cunt puppet.” It was something he’d called her when they’d first explored this. She’d found it memorable.  

My cunt puppet. That’s right. Good girl. Well, almost good. Considering you’re a lazy girl. A slovenly, disorganised girl who needs to be whipped.” He thought. “Regularly whipped, just to get through the month.” That sounded weak, to him, but it didn’t matter. Lilah had blushed, and so he could continue. 

Lilah had told him, long ago, that when she was in a mood for being mildly humiliated she liked to be lectured. He chose faults that were real enough to be credible and important enough for her to care about, without doing any real harm. Although she was actually driven and focussed, she always thought she should be working harder, so laziness was a good topic. He could humble her in the moment, but she’d recover quickly. 

Lilah was very far from stupid, too, but he never called her stupid because her mother had and she was still sensitive about that. He aimed his blows at the well-padded parts of her body, and her psyche.

So he made her respond to his hand, sometimes stroking, sometimes hurting, so she moved involuntarily and remembered that she was a cunt puppet, and she listened to the shameful truth about her slothful self.

shameHer face was flushed –  she’d closed her eyes, now – as he chided her for her intolerable, disgusting laziness. Eventually he ran out of words – extemporising these lectures and avoiding the possible traps was exhausting – so he said, “worthless, idle, workshy girl!”, because that sounded like a conclusion. Then he said it again, louder.

Lilah made a very small moan, and hung her head. 

He took his hand from her cunt, making her gasp in protest and loss, and silenced her by pushing his fingers into her mouth for her to clean. Lilah showed him how well she could perform her cleaning, which made his cock uncomfortably constricted in his suit pants. Well, he’d chosen to be the clothed man with a naked woman. 

He took a breath. “And so, lazy Lilah?”

“You’re going to have to punish me?” Her voice was higher than usual. Punishment would be hot; it would also be absolution, for things Jaime knew he would never be told. 

Have to? “I’m going to punish you.” 

The rite of the first night 1

Jaime sneaked back to the probation service offices after ten. It was still his first day as a probation officer. He’d spent a lot of the morning signing oaths of confidentiality, codes of ethics and some other things, and when he’d signed up he was given some business cards, a badge with his name on it, not the kind that conveyed authority, and his set of office keys. 

Now it was after ten on that Monday night, and he’d returned with his friend Lilah. He’d been pretty sure all of his new colleagues would have gone home, and it seemed he was right. Apart from the security light in the courtyard and one in reception, inside, the place was in darkness.

While, just a few miles away, a girl called Ana turned under her blanket to face the wall of her cell, he opened up the probation service offices, without turning any lights on, and led Lilah into his office.

Lilah looked about her, because it was a new space, but it was just an office. He smacked the rear of her jeans, and told her to undress. He was interested in the difference in status between a clothed man and a naked woman. So was Lilah. She liked mild humiliation.

blindShe took off her jumper, unveiling a white bra and the pale skin of her belly striped by moonlight through the blinds. Jaime hadn’t risked turning the office light on. 

Jaime touched her right breast, cupped it, and then tugged the bra down so it gathered below her bared breasts. He smacked her right breast, then the left. “Now get that bra off, little cunt.”

Mild humiliation has to be judged finely. For example Lilah was happy to be told she was a cunt, so long as it was personal: he had to mean her cunt, and that she was her cunt at that moment, with it understood that he liked her cunt, and that her cunt and she belonged to him.

Though that belonging, that ownership, was only temporary; they were friends who fucked, not lovers.

And Lilah would be furious if he used the word to mean a bad or useless person, the way a policeman had said it to Ana, now was still lying sleepless in her cell. And if he ever called Lilah a bitch, sex with Lilah would stop happening as if a tap had turned off.

The difference between good and bad humiliation could be quite subtle: she liked Jaime to call her his slut, but she’d be an angry woman if he called her a slut.

tit slapLilah moved her hand up to rub her left breast, where he’d smacked her. He slapped her hand away, and smacked each breast again, and then again, so that they shook and then settled, no longer quite as pale. Lilah breathed through her opened mouth.  The thing, the thing that happened between them, was awake, was moving, was happening.

She watched Jaime with awe. Jaime never felt he deserved that awe, but he never questioned it. He said, “Lilah, the fuck are your jeans still on?” 

Lilah said, “oh,” as though she’d forgotten. “I’m sorry.” She took off her sneakers, using her right foot to slip off the left sneaker and sock, and then peeling off the left sneaker with her left foot. She undid the button of her jeans and unzipped, then quickly skimmed her jeans and knickers down to her ankles.

She liked to make a show out of undressing for a man, but she’d learned that Jaime didn’t want a show when he was in this mood. He wanted her naked, and he’d punish her for any delay. She stepped out of the bunched cotton and denim. She was a naked woman. She was a naked woman who would get Jaime’s belt across her ass, if she delayed, if she disobeyed, if she didn’t speak in complete sentences. So many risks to her ass.

She opened her legs without being told, so Jaime could push two fingers into her cunt, squeezing her lips between his thumb and forefinger. Lilah’s breathing became louder. Her eyes were still open, but she was no longer looking at anything. In particular. Jaime tightened his grip, until she gasped. He smiled at her and nodded, as if he was pleased with her pain. As though it was an achievement.  

Toothpaste on the clitoris: follow-up 2

At about 12 minutes of toothpaste clitoral sensation, Lisa was not keeping herself still, and she got paddled as I’d promised. 



The paddling turned out to make it easier for her, because after a few swats she seemed to be overwhelmed with sensual information – if you can call the impact of a paddle “information” – and she just held herself in position and let things happen. Everything went wet and warm and floaty.

The toothpaste seemed to lose its heat, or just quieten down to being a bit warm and not uncomfortable, after about half an hour.

Obviously the timing will vary according to the kind of toothpaste, the woman’s pain threshold, how lubricated she was when the toothpaste was applied, plus random factors like mood and timing and, well, chance. 

I scooped off the toothpaste with my tongue, because it felt like a good idea, and the toothpaste on clitoris experience segued into other things. 

Afterwards, Lisa rated it higher than I did. The combination of clitoral heat-torture plus the paddle was a memory she used when she was masturbating, later. That’s high praise. From my point of view both the application and the removal were fun, and forcing her to keep still and dealing with the inevitable failure were hot, but I’d rate the whole toothpaste thing only as a B. 

Figging, with a peeled piece of ginger root inserted into the anus, is something I’d rate as an A. Maybe that’s just because the ginger root is organic while toothpaste is more artificial, and me, I’m a country boy at heart. Figging also seems to have a slower build-up of heat and a longer effect. Maybe I prefer figging because I can absolutely slather my cock with cold cream and bugger her afterwards, knowing that the cold cream is a delicious relief after the ginger.   

So I’d rate toothpasting, if that’s what we’re going to call it, as a modest success. I’m glad to have it in my repertoire, but it didn’t change my life. (Or Lisa’s.)

Toothpaste on the clitoris: a follow-up

Back on April 4, 2013, I said I was going to apply toothpaste to the clitoris of a wriggly submissive women next week, and report back on the results. Well, I keep my promises. It’s just that sometimes (sometimes!) it takes me 17 months. 

So, the woman was called Lisa (which means she wasn’t called Lisa, but she will be here), and she’d been promised toothpaste. Not as a punishment, just as an experience. She was curious and excited, but also nervous, which was good. She undressed and stood with her hands behind her back and her feet apart while I explained the ground rules.

The safe word was “toothbrush,” if she really couldn’t stand it or she thought she was coming to harm.

"Keep still, girl."

“Keep still, girl.”

Otherwise she had to stand still, with her legs apart, and her hands resting on the back of a wooden chair for support. If she started wriggling, waggling or thrusting, I’d enjoy watching her, but I’d also punish her for it with the leather paddle.

She’d be paddled in the bent over and touching her toes position, with her feet apart, so that she couldn’t press herself against anything that might be comforting. There’d be a minimum of six strokes, but the paddling would only stop if she managed to keep completely still. 

I didn’t tell her that I was going to paddle her regardless, because I expected that she’d enjoy the two heats, one from her clitoris and one from her bottom, and the way they met and merged. But she knew that.

They seemed like good rules, and Lisa didn’t even bother to complain I was being unfair. So she lay back on the bed with her knees up and apart, and her feet on the edge of the bed.

I licked her until she starting breathing in the way that meant she was thinking about coming. I stopped abruptly when she caught her breath and tightened her stomach muscles. The point of no return was getting close.

"Open wide..." Actually, fingers are better than brushes, for getting toothpaste onto slippery surfaces.

“Open wide…” Actually, fingers are better than brushes, for getting toothpaste onto slippery surfaces.

I coated toothpaste all round the sides of her clit, dabbed a dollop on the tip, and then pressed it down and spread it.

The toothpaste was a slightly green colour, so it looked like she was wearing a little turquoise jewel on her cunt.

She got off the bed, and took up her position, standing straight, with her feet well apart and her hands on the back of the chair. The toothpaste had been on her clit for about five  minutes, and it was, apparently, pleasantly warm.

At eight minutes she made a little, worried sound, and there was a muscle all a-tremble on her left inner thigh.

I wasn’t going to punish her for that. I waited.


The next episode is here

Schoolgirl spanking stories and sexual politics 11

The first rule of sexual politics is that sexual stuff shouldn’t involve non-consenting parties. And especially it shouldn’t involve powerless parties who haven’t consented.

Yeah, that's cool. There's no denying that's cool. But not in front of the actual girls who go to school, ok?

Yeah, that’s cool. There’s no denying that’s cool. But not in front of the actual girls who go to school, ok?

So the public sexualisation of schoolgirls is crap. Being an adolescent is hard enough without being marked publicly, by adults, as “naughty”, “sexy” and “hot”, and so on. Actual schoolgirls should be able to get through their day, and be miserable in their own way, without being dragged into sexual stuff that adults do with each other.

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the strict teacher/naughty schoolgirl scenario.

That’s why I spent 21 posts telling the story of one roleplay game, early in my bdsm career, that taught me more about bdsm than I’d learned before. More than I’d learned in one evening before, anyway. It’s hot, and it does allow exploration of darker bdsm themes in the middle of what seems to be a silly, light-hearted game. 

But the wider cultural fetishisation of schoolgirls is a bit unkind to actual girls who go to school. I don’t think “there oughta be a law” outlawing public display of hot adult women wearing school uniform. Laws like that always have more stupid effects than positive ones. 

It’s just that as ethical people, perverts and sluts, we should certainly keep it well away from real, actual girls who are going through (1) adolescence, which is hard, and (2) school, which by and large sucks.

"Please, Captain, not in front of the Klingons."

“Please, Captain, not in front of the Klingons.”

Schoolgirl spanking stories and sexual politics 10

sg busIt’s a cold morning. Vicious wind and sheets of rain. There’s a group of schoolgirls in pleated school uniform skirts, waiting for the bus. They’re stamping and rubbing their hands. They’re freezing. A pleated skirt and a blazer over a cotton shirt aren’t nearly enough to keep the cold out.

But the Christian school they go to has a uniform and they have to wear it. They’re not allowed to wear sensible clothes for the weather conditions. 

Just behind their bus shelter there’s a strip joint. It closed for the night about four hours ago, a little after three in the morning. But there are enormous paintings on the front of the building to show the punters and pedestrians what you get for your entrance fee, or membership.

So there’s a woman in a nurse’s uniform, leaning forward to show off the considerable heft of her breasts. Because, you know, nurses.

Beside her there’s an equally huge painting of a schoolgirl with an even more improbable body. She’s bending forward to present her arse to the street so the wind can blow her little pleated skirt up and show off her little white knickers, and she’s turning round to gaze at the rosy spectacle of her own arse, giving the viewer a red-lip-sticked O of surprise and a vista of her improbable breasts. 

To flash both her ass and her tits that way, she’d have to have her spine made out of the same stuff as Linda Blair’s neck in The Exorcist. If she wasn’t a painting she’d be in traction for years, poor thing. 

The real schoolgirls in front of that image never look behind them. That image and the word “Schoolgirls!” has been there for years. There’ve been schoolgirls waiting at that bus-stop in front of that sign for years. It probably feels like they’ve been waiting for that morning’s bus for years. The sign’s always been there.

But they don’t look at it. It’s there. 

Bdsm and race 9

My thoughts on bdsm and racism aren’t going to come across as angry enough for some people.

I shocked myself when I was whipping Carol’s ass. She’s a black woman. Therefore, her ass is black, and that opened up thoughts about how she really could have been my slave. Just a blip ago, in historical time; and wouldn’t that have been hot? I liked that for a few seconds before my conscience woke up and overrode my cock.

But then, nobody’s perfect. Carol won’t do bdsm with black men.

Some men – white men, Asian men, even some black men – would never try to get to know Carol, because they dislike and perhaps fear black people. That’s contemptible in several ways, but on the other hand it’s good that people with attitudes like that keep the hell away from Carol. If they keep their distance, they’re less dangerous. So, at least within bdsm meet-up circles, that kind of racism is a self-solving problem.

Another group of men, mostly white and educated, will chase Carol because she’s black. Which is to say, they probably think it’s a bonus that she’s pretty, and by the time she’s told them to fuck off they may have noticed that she’s smart. But they’re after her because they want a black girlfriend to look good on the resume and “prove” that they’re not racist. Those guys are kind of tedious, though they mostly aren’t dangerous.  

There are racially based ideas about white women – that they’re stuck-up, that they’re easy because they wear revealing clothes – and so on.

There are ideas about white men, that we’re arrogant, that we have tiny penises (or is that just white Americans?), and so on. I can’t really get very upset about people stereotyping or rejecting me because of race. That’s because except for short periods in other people’s countries, and once on an Arab airline, I’ve never been in situations where someone’s opinion of my racial group makes any real difference to me. That‘s how racial privilege works. The privilege is not having to think about race.   

But sometimes, in a bedroom race is just a matter of skin that looks different to, and often nicer than, yours. It can be just aesthetics and sex. Skin to skin is good. 

Bdsm and race 8

This may be my most stupid post, so far. I was thinking about what I said about how bdsm focusses on the differences between the dominant and the submissive. A lot of bdsm rituals, like the pro-domme’s “on your belly, worm, and lick my boots”, are about establishing and pointing up the difference between dom and sub as fast and strongly as possible.

Differences in race, or at least skin colour, can add another kind of contrast and intensity. 

I’ve been in bdsm relationships, or at least played, with women of various nationalities and ethnicities. Mostly they’ve been white, because of where I’ve lived. Mainly American, Australian, Canadian, English, German, Irish and Scots girls.

But also African American, Argentinian (a mix of white, Indian and Moorish), “black” (ie she’s English, but her parents were from the Caribbean and most of her ancestors from Africa), Chinese, Fijian, Indian (Southern India, and the most deeply darkly “black” of any girl I’ve ever undressed), Korean, Samoan, and Vietnamese. I’m not counting Jewish and Iranian as non-white.

I suppose I should have some man-of-the-word observations to make, something like, “they don’t react much to a flogging, but you just can’t beat a Russian girl for the romping anal sex”.

Somebody really did say that to me once, and for about half a second I wondered if it might be true. Before the second was up I’d realised it was one of the most stupid things I’d ever heard. It might be a non-stupid observation to make about the Russian women who hang around the hotels where foreign guys stay. Even then he’d have to have flogged and had anal sex with, say, a thousand of them, to have a valid sample.

My observation is only that I liked all of them, and loved some. If you asked me if I had a “type” or a preference, I’d have said it was cute, curvy blonde women. That’s not not because I’d look at the room at a party and make a beeline for the cute, curvy blonde girl. It’s more that, looking back, I can see that I’ve had so many cute blonde girlfriends that it can’t be a coincidence.

Similarly, I’ve never noticed myself thinking that I prefer brown skin, or exotic eyes, or whatever. But again, I can’t have dommed that many non-white girls by accident, either. So there is an attraction there.